


The One With A Fuckload Of Bobby Pins

by Junkyard_Rose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bobby Pins, F/F, Female Castiel, Female Dean, Genderswap, Mechanic Dean, drabble-ish, lots and lots of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junkyard_Rose/pseuds/Junkyard_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas owns millions of bobby pins</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With A Fuckload Of Bobby Pins

**Author's Note:**

> [Aragorn Voice]: One day I will write a spn fic that is not AU and doesn't involve lesbians, but it IS NOT THIS DAYYYYYYYY.

Cas owns millions of bobby pins.  
   It’s not like Deanna didn’t know this before they moved in together; she’d stayed over at Cas’ tiny little shoebox apartment plenty of times, seen the little ceramic dishes full of hairpins on Cas’ dresser, by her bed, in the bathroom. There’s even one in the kitchen. Deanna’s tried to tangle her fingers in Cas’ hair and been met with cold, unyielding pins far too many times, has helped take each and every one of them out of Cas’ hair after a long day, when Cas can barely keep her eyes open let alone remove every pin from her wild curls.  
   But still. There’s like, a gazillion of them. A gazillion, million bobby pins, taking up residence in Deanna’s apartment, and it drives Deanna crazy.  
   Deanna’s not a girly-girl, not by a long shot. She likes classic cars and classic rock and good, strong beer. She hasn’t worn any kind of skirt or dress she was four years old and her mother died, and she wears her hair short and practical and her leather jacket like a suit of armour. She’s a mechanic, for Christ’s sake – before Cas moved in, Deanna’s apartment resembled a bachelor pad (for that is what is essentially was), and that was how she liked it; empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter, dishes piled up in the sink, dirty t-shirts covered in engine grease scattered around her bedroom floor - she _never_ had any clean clothes, and the only thing she owned that could be considered ‘beauty products’ were her stub of black eyeliner and a mascara Cas made her get because it ‘made her eyes pop’.  
   Deanna’s not a girly-girl, and Cas is about as feminine as they get.  
   The first time Cas walked into Singer’s Auto Repair, all neatly pinned up dark hair and perfectly-fitting pantyhose and stupid trench coat, the first thing Deanna had thought was _high maintenance._ Ok, the first thing she had thought was _Wow, good looking,_ but _high maintenance_ had come a close second. She’d thought Cas had been dressed to impress maybe, in a sleek skirted business suit, a silver cross around her neck. Smooth, flawless foundation applied so lightly it was practically non-existent and evenly applied brown mascara, but no, that was the kind of shit Cas always wore. She’d been cute and awkward and the way she’d tilted her head to the side when Deanna had tried flirting with her had been downright adorable.  
   You wouldn’t be able to tell, looking at Cas, that she owned enough bobby pins to hairstyle a small country.  
   Cas wore her hair like it was still the 1940’s; elegant twists and curls, hairpins always hidden, never a hair out of place. She made it work, somehow. It suited her.    Even though the bloody bobby pins drive Deanna up the wall.  
   “I’m going to shave you head and set fire to all those fucking pins,” Deanna tells Cas one night; it’s freezing cold and they’re wrapped around each other under the blankets, only Deanna can’t get comfortable because there’s bobby pins sticking into her in odd places; Cas had been taking out her hair when Deanna had pulled her into the blankets, and a handful of pins had gone everywhere. Not Deanna’s brightest move, but she’s never claimed to be a genius, and having Cas warm and pliant in her arms was the best thing in the world.  
   “I would object to that,” Cas tells her sleepily, voice deep and raspy; it’s how she always talks, and Deanna would be lying if she said she didn’t find it endearing, and kind of hot.  
   “I don’t _care_ ,” Deanna stresses, reaching underneath her to pull a pin out from where it was jabbing into her ass; they’d had a quick romp after Deanna had pulled her into bed and the sheets were all messed up, resulting in pins _everywhere_. “You look better with your hair out, anyway.”  
   “Mm,” says Cas, into the junction of Deanna’s neck, which is Cas-speak for ‘I get what you’re saying but I’m choosing to ignore it,’, and one of her hands slips down from where it’s resting on Deanna’s ribs, skimming over her stomach and hips and – _oh._  
   “I think,” Deanna pants sometime later, “I think I can get used to the bobby pins.”  
   “Mm,” says Cas, but this time it’s not in ‘Cas-speak’ but rather because her mouth is already rather busy.

(Over the years, Deanna slowly grows her hair out. When it’s long enough, Cas shows her how to pin it off her face so it doesn’t get in the way when she’s elbow-deep in the engine of a car, and if Cas starts wearing her hair loose every now and then, neither of them comment.)


End file.
